


Every Move You Make

by newtgottlaid



Category: Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: But not in a creepy way I promise the feelings are mutual, Emergency shower hijinks, Kaiju goo, M/M, Masturbation, Voyeur Hermann
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-30
Updated: 2020-07-30
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:27:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25603561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/newtgottlaid/pseuds/newtgottlaid
Summary: Newt takes a shower in the lab. Hermann watches.
Relationships: Newton Geiszler/Hermann Gottlieb
Comments: 1
Kudos: 45





	Every Move You Make

Hermann, for all his ten years of doctoral experience, can’t understand his own crush on Newton. The man is objectively horrible. Educated, sure, but unprofessional as anything. Not to mention annoying, crude, and frankly? Completely disgusting. Hermann can literally smell his sweat from across the room. Well, more like a rancid combination of sweat and ammonia and God knows what else. He shudders when he realizes that the smell doesn’t even faze him anymore-- it’s a testament to years of sharing a lab space with a _biologist,_ of all people. His sinuses are probably permanently damaged from all the secondhand chemicals he’s inhaled. 

They must not be too damaged, though, because he can definitely pick up on a smell that’s distinctly Newton underneath the reek of kaiju. And as disgusting as it is, Hermann rather likes it. To his own mortification, he rather likes most things about Newton. 

The specimen in question today is a comically large eyeball. Probably about four meters in diameter, if Hermann had to guess. At any rate, far too big to sit on a dissection bench, so it’s currently resting comfortably on a kaiju blue-stained tarp, straddling the line down the middle of the lab. Or at least it was, until Newton decided to crawl inside the pupil and roll it around the room like a bloody hamster ball. 

He can hear Newton’s strained groans and grunts of exertion echoing inside the eyeball. It almost sounds like— Hermann shakes his head. Disgusting. Sure, he’s repressed and pent-up and needs to get laid. But it needs to be with someone who _isn’t_ regularly up to their neck in kaiju goo. He puts down the piece of chalk he’s holding, channels his sexual frustration into anger, and snaps at his lab partner instead. 

“What the hell are you doing, Newton?” Feigned rage has always been, after all, the easiest emotion to communicate between the two of them. “Are you a doctor or a goddamn child?”

Newton pokes his head out of the eyeball. “Don’t be such a dick, Hermann! This is the easiest way to get access to the optic disc.” 

Hermann can’t actually argue with that, so he grumbles and turns back to his work. Fifteen minutes later, Newt emerges from the pupil, dripping with moisture (and what looks like kaiju blue), and throws a pile of sample tubes onto the ground before clambering out of the eyeball headfirst.

Hermann watches him pick up his armful of samples and head over to the freezer, leaving a trail of gooey, wet footprints in his wake. Once he has everything carefully arranged on the overflowing freezer shelves, he puts his hands on his hips and carefully cracks his back. 

“Hermann, I don’t know about you, but I think that’s quite enough science for today.” He laughs, and reaches up and stretches his shoulders. His ruined shirt slides up and reveals a sliver of tattooed stomach that Hermann has to actively ignore.

“See you later, dude. I’m heading off for a shower and a big ol’ nap.” He turns out his heel and heads towards the laboratory exit. “I’ll probably get takeout later, so text me if you have any preferences.”

A large glob of eyeball goo drips off of Newton’s shoulder and just barely misses the couch as he walks past. Hermann’s eye twitches and he thinks of the bathroom they share between their two dorm-like bedrooms. The bathroom he _just_ cleaned two days ago.

“Oh no you bloody don’t,” he shouts across the room before Newton so much as gets a finger on the door handle. “I just spent ages cleaning your kaiju _gunk_ out of our shower, Newton. You are not going to go mess it up again.” 

Newt opens his mouth to retort and Hermann beats him to it. “ _No,_ Newton. Lab shower. Now.” He looks to the emergency shower with its lack of privacy and zero temperature controls and feels a twinge of guilt. He sighs. “At least… at least rinse off here so you don’t clog our drain with, er, whatever that mess is.” 

Newt groans, but starts pulling off his tie and trudging over to the shower. He pulls the handle to get the water running, and Hermann decides to head over to his desk and do some work on his computer to give Newton as much privacy as possible.

It works well for about five seconds, until he hears a shriek coming from the shower and can’t stop himself before he looks up and gets an eyeful of Newton’s naked backside as he leaps away from the cold stream of water. 

Hermann immediately snaps his attention back to his desk, but it’s too late. The image of Newton’s round ass, pale and freckled, is seared into his retinas. His prick gives a little twitch in his trousers as he shakes his head, trying to clear his mind. His attraction to Newton is an embarrassing, one-sided affair, and it’s something he tries his best to keep relegated to no more than one jerk-off session every five-to-ten business days. But as he hears Newton’s little gasp as he steps into the shower, as he pictures the water streaming down Newton’s tattoos, he realizes he might have to cash in a little early this week. 

He chances a quick glance up. Newton still has his back turned to him-- he’s ducking his head under the stream of water, running his fingers through his thick hair. Fairly distracted, Hermann would wager.

He’s not proud of it, in fact, he feels awful for objectifying his friend in such a way, but his cock is fully hard in his pants, and he knows something has to be done. He looks to the clock on the wall and estimates the probability that his erection will go down by the time Newton is done with his shower. Then he estimates the probability that he could discreetly get off in the same amount of time. And he makes a decision. 

Keeping one eye on Newton, who seems thoroughly engaged in the process of washing his hair, Hermann silently unzips his trousers and slips his hand beneath the waistband of his briefs. He wraps his fingers around his cock and quickly brings his other hand to his mouth to stifle a groan. He looks to the clock again. No time to lose. He spits in his hand and starts stroking himself. He hopes, _prays,_ that the sound of the water will drown out any noises made by the slick slide of his hand. 

Newton has moved his attention from his hair to his back. Hermann’s mouth goes dry as he watches Newton’s colourful, muscular arms reach around and massage the junction of shoulder and neck. He works his prick faster and imagines Newton pinning him up against a wall- no, _holding_ him up against a wall- with those deceptively strong arms, and he lets out a little whine around the fist shoved in his mouth. 

He looks up just in time to see Newton turning around— and quickly tosses a stray file folder over his lap to cover the leaking prick poking out of his slacks. Newton doesn’t look up (rather fortunately, for Hermann’s makeshift shield does little to hide his activities and does absolutely nothing to hide his flushed face); instead, he just lets the water hit his back and shoulders with an absolutely pornographic moan. Hermann’s eyes flutter shut as the sound goes straight to his groin. 

Newton keeps looking down as he runs his hands over his chest (Hermann squints— are his nipples _pierced_?), across his abdomen, and down to his cock, which lies soft and pink between his colorful thighs. Hermann tries to look away but finds he can’t. Not when the subject of his affection is standing right there, soaking wet and naked and looking so perfect that Hermann’s heart could just burst with, well, _certain feelings._ God, Hermann wishes he could tell Newton how he feels. He wishes he could tell him how he feels and he wishes Newton would feel the same way and he wishes that Newton would just whisk him away to his quarters and ravish him while they hold hands and—

Newton’s turned back around and is rinsing off his legs— now is Hermann’s chance. He tosses the papers off his lap, leans back in his desk chair, and starts fucking his fist in earnest. Newton bends over to rub at his calves and, bloody hell, Hermann has a perfect view of his pink, puckered hole.

It’s all over. Hermann bucks up into his fist a couple times more and spills all over his hand. He quickly wipes himself off with a tissue, and carefully tucks himself back into his pants. He’s reaching for a pump of hand sanitizer when Newton steps out of the shower. 

“Hey, dude,” Newton calls from across the room, “could you grab me the shirt and pair of jeans in my bottom desk drawer?”

Hermann looks up, feigning a nonchalance he absolutely does not feel. “Of course, Newton.” He stands up and heads over to Newton’s desk. As he approaches Newton (who is doing absolutely nothing to hide his, er, _private parts),_ he does his best to ignore both the wildly inappropriate nature of the Godzilla graphic tee and Newton’s shameless nudity as he hands over the pile of clothes. 

“Thanks, man,” he hears Newton say, as he works to tastefully avert his eyes and stare at a stain on the ceiling. 

Newton’s wet hand brushes his as he takes the clothes. Hermann clears his throat and turns away. 

“Hey, uh, Hermann?” Newt says. Hermann turns back around to face him. He hopes the blush he can feel spreading across his cheeks isn’t terribly obvious.

Newton holds out the shirt. “I think you need this more than I do, dude.” 

Hermann scrunches up his face in confusion, but Newton smiles and gestures towards his chest. “Got a little jizz on your sweater vest there, buddy.” He gives Hermann a wink.

Hermann snatches up the shirt and runs out of the lab as fast as his cane can carry him. 


End file.
